


Adore You

by stateandcontrast



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-10-12 13:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateandcontrast/pseuds/stateandcontrast
Summary: Carmilla and Laura have spent the entirety of their University years in an unmoving limbo of ‘will-they’, ‘won’t-they’, with their friends giving up on bets a long time ago. It seems a never-ending cycle until Laura books a one-way ticket to the other side of the world and Carmilla is forced to make a decision.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was listening to 'Adore' by Amy Shark on repeat and then this happened. 
> 
> This is likely to be just something small and sweet, and maybe a bit sad. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

September 2017

 

“What are your plans after graduation, Carm?”

You look up from your drink at the voice across the table from you. Laura looks back at you and you realize she’s completely unaware that you’ve been anywhere but here for the last few minutes.

“Oh, I don’t know... Pick out a nice frame for my degree, then get a regular soul-destroying job like the rest of the population?” You say, deadpan, without missing a beat.

You take another swig of your beer, hoping that the more you drink, the less serious this conversation will get. You hate serious.

LaFontaine lets out a laugh from beside you and shakes their head, their impeccably styled hair not moving a millimetre out of place. They play with the silver band on the ring finger of their left hand.

“You keep playing with it, you’ll lose it.” Perry whisper-nags from across the table in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she’s said this a thousand times before, because, well, she has.

“All right, Madame Modesty, I suppose all those firms already scouting you will have to wait then?” Danny pipes up from your other side, giving you a nudge.

You roll your eyes and finish your beer, making eye contact with the waitress across the room, lifting your bottle as a signal for another.

In truth, you don’t know what you’re going to do after all of this is over, not through lack of thinking about it though. It’s actually all that you’ve been thinking about lately. The future is a freight train coming straight at you and you don’t know how to stop it.

“What about you, Hollis,” you begin, avoiding her eyes and taking the freshly placed beer from in front of you. “-Thanks,” you say quickly with a smile, as the waitress gives you eyes and walks away, turning back at least once to see if you’re looking at her, and of course you are.

You glance back at Laura and you notice her jaw clench for a second. Her eyes flicker down to the placemat she’s running her finger over.

“How will you tackle the world, after all of this is all done and over with?” you continue, gesturing at your surroundings.

Laura’s eyes look back up at you and for a second and she gives a small smile and you could swear that it was the saddest smile you’d ever seen, but that can’t be right.

“Well… I think I’m moving to England.” She says, with shy certainty.

Right.

The group lets out a collective noise of surprise, Perry next to her, shrieking with excitement, her red curls bouncing along with her.

“You got the job?! Oh my God! Yay! Congratulations, Laura!“ she squeals, pulling Laura into a tight side-hug.

“What! England? That’s like, Europe! What job did you get offered in _Europe_?” Kirsch joins in from Laura’s other side, sounding mildly impressed that he is able to use the continent twice in one breath.

“It’s a Junior Position as a reader at Penguin Publishing in London.” Laura replies.

“That’s awesome Frosh- knew you’d get it.” LaF says, clinking their glass with Laura’s.

“That’s great Laura. Congratulations.” Danny says warmly.

Laura blushes, endearingly telling everyone to stop fawning over her.

It’s after the noise dies down that you realize you still haven’t spoken, and your eyes are still on Laura. Your eyebrows slightly frowned, you try to comprehend the idea of her being halfway across the world from you.

A light kick comes from under the table. You don’t know who from, but you respond immediately.

“Right- yeah!” you fake enthusiasm as best you can, but your voice lets you down when it breaks slightly. Clearing your throat to hide it, you continue. 

“Yeah, that’s really… wonderful.” You manage to say, like you mean it and like your heart isn’t beating- no, breaking, so loudly it’s almost deafening.

“To Laura,” Perry volunteers, and the rest of the group lift their glasses.

“To Laura!” the group chants back. A loud ‘hurrah’ and the clinking of glasses brings noise back into the room and you realize that your eyes are still on hers, and hers are looking right back at you. You lift up your beer bottle and offer it out to her.

_“To you,”_ you mouth to her, unnoticed by the others amongst the fanfare, and she touches her glass to yours, and smiles at you – your smile, mouthing;

_“Thank you.”_

You’re looking into her eyes and she’s looking back into yours and in that moment, you do mean it, and she knows it.

You return that same, sad, smile.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 September 2014

 

The loud blaring noise of a car horn echoes through your bedroom window. A raspy groan escapes your mouth as you’re pulled out of what was a pleasantly deep slumber.

“Goddamnit.” You mumble, looking at the clock on your phone.

The sheets rustle next to you and a shorthaired blonde curls up next to you. You look over and roll your eyes, remembering the night before.

The car horn blares again.

“Okay, okay.” You say irritably. You grab your phone.

**8:32AM**

**STFU, I’ll be there in 2 mins.**

**8:33AM - Danny**

**I’m leaving in 1.**

You groan at the reply, throw the sheets back, and step out of bed.

You pull on some clean underwear, your ripped black jeans and a plain grey shirt. You poke the blonde still in your bed.

“I’ve got class. Can you let yourself out?” you ask the half-conscious, naked cheerleader wrapped up in your sheets.

A quiet mumble later and the blonde is sitting up, stretching her arms out in front of her. You pull on your boots and run your hands through your mess of black hair. It’s a definite case of bed-head this morning, but who cares; you hear that look is in these days.

“You wanna hang out tonight?” the blonde asks sleepily, looking at you with that look they always give you.

“Can’t tonight. Sorry.” You say, packing books into your bag. “Oh, here-” You pick up a pair of lacey underwear from the floor and drop it onto the bed next to the blonde.

The blonde’s face flattens and her eyes become ice.

“ _Those_ aren’t mine.” You barely look around at her as you move around your room getting your shit together.

“Oh,” you grab a leather jacket from a hanger and pull it on. “-Sorry.”

The blonde gets up immediately and shoves past you.

“Asshole.” She mutters at you.

The bathroom door slams and you grab your keys from the bedside table.

Stepping outside, you walk towards the red sports car with the white racing stripes on it.

The redhead behind the wheel shakes her head at you, and the muscled brunette in the back rolls down the window.

“Yo, Carmilla, is that Michelle Aymes’s car in the driveway?” You don’t reply as you open the passenger door and get in.

The silence is enough of an answer.

“DUDE, she is smokin’!” an enthusiastic congratulation greets you from the back seat.

“Quit being a dirt-bag, Kirsch,” the redhead scolds up from the front seat.

Her hair is tied up into a neat ponytail; her face is lovely and annoyingly ‘kind’ looking. She has a white shirt on with a red flannel over the top, paired with some cut up denim short-shorts. Her legs go for days, being all of six-foot-two.

“Oh come on Danny, don’t be jelly just because Car’s got more game.” Kirsch teases, giving Danny a nudge and offering you a high five that goes unreturned.

“Trust me, I’m definitely not ‘jelly’.” Danny replies, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway.

At that, you give her a quick grin.

“Of course you are.”

“Nope. Not even a little.” She replies confidently.

“And why the hell not?” you ask, almost offended.

“I’m seeing someone, believe it or not.”

You scoff, a likely story. Kirsch leans forward between the two seats, interested; “Who?” he pries.

“No-one either of you low-lives will know. And anyway, it’s still pretty new, but it’s going well.” Danny smiles. “I think.”

“I’m sure it’s going great, Romeo.” You sigh, rolling your eyes and ruffling her pristine hair. Danny rolls her eyes and takes a hand off the steering wheel to hit your arm.

“Thanks, jackass.”

The car pulls up in front of an impressive building, Silas University.

You step out of the car and look up at the building. You started class a week ago, and you’re slowly getting used to the archaic building as your regular backdrop. Around you, a flurry of students circulate, some hauling moving boxes, others on their way to class.

“Catch you both at the Dragon later,” Kirsch calls, as he leaves you to head for the Gym.

Danny and yourself make your way towards the main campus together.

“You should try it, you know.” Danny says.

You look at Danny, realising that she’s talking to you.

“Try what?”

“Being serious with someone. You can’t just keep sleeping your way through cheerleading team.”

“Uh, not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t see why not. Silas has _three_ cheerleading teams.” You say, with a little smirk.

Danny can’t help but laugh at your quip, but she does make sure to roll her eyes at you as you part ways in the foyer.

“See you later, Karnstein.”

“Later.”

Truth be told, you are a little bit sick of playing the ‘field’, but you’ve been doing it so long that you don’t think you quite understand how to do anything else. And in any case, you hate people.

They’re dumb, predictable and mostly uninteresting.

The only two people you can stand to hold a conversation with are Danny and Kirsch, and they only count because they are your best friends from way-back-when, and over the years you’ve grown accustomed to their boring lives being around you.

 

\--

 

That evening, you find yourself in the local student bar with Kirsch, two shots down and your second beer on the go. The atmosphere feels warm under the low, dimmed lighting and the background noise of drunken conversation and bad decisions.

A chill from the outside brushes over you every time the door opens, and when the cold lingers for a second longer, you look over your shoulder to scowl at whoever is letting the infernal cold in. 

The girl, currently trapped in her own politeness by holding the door open for people leaving the bar, isn't quite what you expect to find in this bar. 

“Who is _that_?” you say, in a low whisper, finishing the last of what’s left in the beer bottle in front of you.

“Oh, I saw her talking to science-nerd and curly-Sue this morning. I think. English major… I think.” Kirsch replies, looking briefly up at the slim brunette standing by the entrance to the bar.

She doesn’t catch his attention like she does yours.

Kirsch continues talking to you about a new gym routine he’s taken on. His voice becomes background noise as you continue to watch the ‘maybe’ English-major girl.

She looks like a deer caught in headlights, like most freshmen tend to look when they walk into ‘Red Dragon’ for the first time.

‘Red Dragon’ is Silas University’s attempt in creating a ‘humble’ European pub on campus. Except instead of ‘humble’ it’s more ‘sticky’, and instead of European, it’s more Jersey Shore.

Long brown hair, styled in an attractive mix of windswept and tousled, frames a delicate face with brown eyes that look out confidently around the room. She has a blue tote bag hanging from her shoulder, the image of a blue police box printed onto the fabric.

Homemade. Cute.

Her eyes meet yours for a moment and your face softens and lets a small smile.

 _Oh, hello._ You think to yourself.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and returns your smile, but before you can think about how beautiful that smile was, you lose her in a crowd of students who have just bustled in through the bar doors ready to; “GET THIS PARTY STARTED!”

Amongst the Neanderthal howling from the Hockey team and their cheerleaders currently invading the Red Dragon’s premises, you feel a sharp jab in the side that breaks your train of thought.

You let out a growl, “Kirsch, what the hell!”

“Take a picture Car, it lasts longer,” he heckles, laughing before looking up at Danny, who stands behind the bar, cleaning glasses. “Two more, this way Danny!”

Danny, of course, wasted no time applying for jobs on campus as soon as she arrived, the damn overachiever. She’s already on her third shift. She flips you both the finger, while also starting to pour another two shots.

You look back into the crowd and find yourself disappointed that you can’t seem to find the ‘maybe’ English-Major girl again.

Looking at the golden brown shots being poured out, you begin to get up from your seat, patting Kirsch firmly on the back.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave. Have a good one, loser.”

“Aw, come on!” he exclaims, but he knows there’s no convincing.

“Fine. See you on Monday Carm.” He pulls you into a hug, with the standard firm 'bro-thump' on the back.

“Change of plan, Dee, it’s just you and me!” he calls back to Danny, bouncing up from his seat.

Grabbing your backpack you give a wave to the both of them as you leave.

\--

The midnight wind hits you in the face like a ton of bricks, but the silence of the night also greets you and you are grateful.

You start to walk away from the glow of the Red Dragon pub when you notice a police-box tote bag on the steps of the fire escape at the side of the building. Alongside said bag, you see ‘maybe’ English-Major Girl sitting, looking up at the sky.

She doesn’t seem to notice you and you don’t blame her. The stars look wonderful tonight.

You clear your throat as not to startle her, but the “Good God!” she suddenly exclaims, apparently involuntarily, proves otherwise. Her head whips down to look at you.

“-You scared me,” she says in a half-laugh, clutching at her chest.

“Oh shit, sorry,” You begin unable to contain a laugh, “that was my attempt at not startling you, sweetheart.”  

“Good work.” She laughs, raising an eyebrow at your confidence.

Silence meets you both again.

“…Hi.” You offer up.

“Hey…” She smiles, or maybe it was a smirk- whatever it was, you feel it on your face and through your body, down to your legs and you bury your hands in the pockets of your ripped black jeans in an attempt to ground your feet to the earth.

You nod your head back towards the bar.

“Red Dragon not what you expected?” you ask.

Looking up at her sitting there, you notice Orion’s belt in the sky around her head.

“It’s absolutely what I expected, sticky floors and all,” she laughs.

“I just… changed my mind.” she says, looking back up at the sky.

“What’s your name?” you ask, bringing her gaze back down to you again.

She raises an eyebrow playfully, “Who wants to know?”

You smirk back, “I do.”

“And you are?” she asks.

You usually have their number by now, but this girl has a bit of bite to her and you like that.

“Carmilla.” You answer. She nods at the response with a funny look on her face, as if she’s contemplating your name.

“ _Carmilla._ ” She repeats.

It rolls off her tongue and the sound of her saying it makes you feel weird. It’s almost like it’s the first time you’re ever hearing it and then you think back to the times that girls have said your name, because that can't be right and then you realise that it's very rarely in situations as sober as these. The feeling makes you feel a little uncomfortable.

Her phone buzzes on the step next to her, she glances down at it and shuts it off. She slings the tote bag around her shoulder and hops down from the fire escape.

At ground level, you see that she’s a few inches shorter than you, and that her eyes are more like a hazel-brown rather than just brown, and that she smells like vanilla and fresh cotton.

“I’m Laura.” She says, offering you that smile again.

“Hi.”

“You said that already. Change of plans – walk me home?”

“Sure.”

\--

You walk in silence alongside one another for a good minute or so, and you notice that your palms are sweating. 

“So…” she starts. “What are you studying?”

“Law.” You reply.

She raises her eyebrows, apparently impressed.

“You don’t look like a law student.”

Your raise an eyebrow in return.  

“What do I look like?”

Laura looks at you and chuckles.

“Like a member of a Guns ‘N’ Roses tribute band-”

A laugh escapes you; you’re shocked and entertained by the dig. She’s _wrong_ , but she’s funny, you’ll give her that.

“Ouch! Alright, sweetheart! What are _you_ studying?”

For what seems like an hour, the two of you walk and talk and you begin to put together a picture of who ‘Laura the English Major’ is.

It’s actually kind of annoying how much she talks. You usually don’t let this much talking happen when you’re just trying to get a girl’s number. But then again, usually the girls you’re trying to pick up don’t have anything interesting to say.

You find out that you both know LaFontaine and Lola Perry, the individuals Kirsch so lovingly referred to as ‘science-nerd’ and ‘curly Sue’. She’s studying English Literature with them. After a few more minutes of her talking at you, you give her a quick side glance.

“..Boyfriend?” you ask. She returns the glance, smirking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“No.”

“Girlfriend?” you add, knowing that this was the more appropriate question to begin with.

“…Kinda.” she responds quietly with a smile, her eyes back on the street ahead of you.

You feel a pang of disappointment. You let out a small laugh because you don’t know how else to react. She laughs with you.

“Sorry!” she says sheepishly, through her small giggles.

“Well, shit,” you laugh, shaking your head at the ground. “What does ‘kinda’ mean?”

Laura sighs and shrugs her shoulders.

“I don’t know… it’s just really new.”

“Ah, I see.” You say, beginning to try and slowly shut down this idea of getting Laura-the-English-Major’s number.

You might be a bit of a Lothario, sure, one of the best there is, _sure._ You also know that you'd be lying if you said that you didn't find an excuse to flirt with almost every girl that catches your eye in your day to day. However, one thing that you absolutely are not, is a home-wrecker.

You’re surprised when Laura continues.

“You know when you’re in those early stages and you’re still, kinda, figuring out how you feel about someone?”

“Mm-hmm.” Is your only response, because in truth, you don’t know how that feels at all.

“It’s just hard to like, _know_ , if you know. Know, what I mean?” she asks, somewhat rhetorically.

“Good sentence, English major.” You tease.

She laughs and looks to you, still expecting an answer. You shrug a little.

“Well, I don’t know. I feel like if you do, you would just know.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Laura sighs, defeated.

“That’s what every asshole and their mother says anyway.” You add on, emphasising your complete lack of expertise in this field.

You finally reach the first block of dormitory buildings and she points out the one with her apartment in.

 _"Oh boy."_  You mumble under your breath.

You both stop at the door to the apartment building.

“Well, Miss Hollis, it’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“The pleasure is all mine.” She bows slightly, and you can’t help but smirk at 'Laura the English major'.

In that moment, your brain makes the subconscious decision that you want to, or rather, _need_ to know more about her and that perhaps this isn't just a girl whose number you want scribbled on a piece of paper.

She turns towards the door, and then turns to look at you over her shoulder again.

“You know,” she starts, tucking her hair behind her ear, “you’re a pretty smooth talker, Carmilla Karnstein.”

“Is that so?” You respond, trying to keep your cool, but you find that the grin is harder to keep hidden away. She laughs, shaking her head, as if telling herself to stop.

“You _know_ so.” She says matter-of-factly, unable to keep the smallest of smirks off her face. She turns back to the door and unlocks it.

“…How new is this girlfriend of yours exactly?” you ask, biting your lip now, unable to help yourself as you start to tread into dangerous territory.

Laura turns around and folds her arms in front of her.

“Oh,” she starts playing with the keys in her hands, and she doesn’t look you in the eye. You notice her cheeks go a light shade of pink.

“Well. Let’s just say if we’d had this meeting about a week or ago, then maybe-”

“Hey!” a familiar voice cuts in, cutting right though your hopes of ever finding out the end of that sentence.

You turn to look behind you and are mildly surprised, but mostly horrified, to see Danny approaching, walking straight past you and to Laura’s side.

You watch as she confidently leans down to plant a peck on Laura’s lips.

“Hey!” Laura returns, startled and maybe a bit embarrassed, as she looks up at all six-feet-two of your friend, her _'kinda'_ girlfriend, who has her arms wrapped around her.

“I thought you had to work late?” Laura whispers to Danny.

“They let me off early, I thought we could hang out.” Danny smiles down at her, before turning to you.

“Karnstein- this is Laura, the girl I was telling you about!” She looks back to Laura.

“This scoundrel isn’t bothering you is she?” Danny jokes, completely unaware of the severely obese awkward-turtle plodding through the current atmosphere.

Laughing quietly to yourself, you scrape the edge of your boot on the ground, wishing that it would open up swallow you whole.

“Just getting acquainted with the new neighbours, Lawrence.” You say, hoping your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

“Right.” Laura repeats. She does a double-take and looks at you puzzled.

_“Neighbours?”_

You jingle the keys in your pocket and force a smile.

“Neighbours.”

A look of horror crosses Laura’s face and you’re glad the feeling is mutual.

“Speaking of, Karnstein,” Danny puts a hand on your shoulder, again, oblivious to the atmospheric hoard of awkward zombies, currently smothering you all.

“You better get rid of any sign of Michelle Aymes before your next one comes over. I overheard her in the locker room bitching about how you had another girl’s underwear in your room while she was there.”

Laura clears her throat awkwardly, and opens the door.

“I’m just gonna go, and, uh- put the kettle on. It was nice to meet you Carmilla.” She says, her eyes looking everywhere but you.

And with that she walks into the building. You hear the beeping of the elevator and then the doors closing. 

“Thanks for the heads up, Dan.” you say through grit teeth.

Danny smiles.

“Any time.” She looks over her shoulder to the hallway of the building.

“She’s pretty cool huh?” she asks, seeking approval that you don’t want to give.

“Yeah, whatever.” You shrug your shoulder from underneath Danny’s hand and walk straight past her, towards your apartment.

\--

The Saturday morning sun creeps through your blinds and falls lightly onto your face.

The light brings you gently from your slumber, and you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms above your head. You rub your eyes awake, blinking slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. You grab your phone from the table and check the time.

8:02AM.

You roll onto your side and begin your tedious morning routine of scrolling. Your phone buzzes in your hand.

**8:05AM – Danny**

**Hey, do you have any eggs?**

“Urgh, NO.” you groan, throwing your phone back onto the bedside.

You jump out of bed and pull on some underwear, gym shorts and a black cropped shirt with cut-off sleeves. You stumble into the bathroom and pull your hair up into messy bun. You stare at your reflection as you brush your teeth and find your mind wandering back to Danny and Laura the English Major, her _kinda_ girlfriend and ponder how it is that the universe was choosing to play this game with you. 

"Urgh," you cringe, reliving last night, and spit your toothpaste out into the sink.

You grab a bottle of water from the fridge on your way out and a feeling of gratitude comes over you when your feet hit the ground outside. The cool morning air kisses your skin, and you run. 

An hour later, you step back into your apartment, out of breath and covered in sweat, but before even giving yourself a second to rest, you drop down to the floor and begin to pump out militant-style push ups, breathing in deep and exhaling hard with every push up and drop down. 

This is how your start your weekends, and contrary to popular belief you actually relish the days where you can wake up early to work out. Routine is something you find comfort in, and the peace and quiet of your own company is something that at times, you crave-

Three knocks at your apartment door make you lose count. You curse to yourself and clamber to your feet, lifting the edge of your shirt up slightly to wipe the sweat from your forehead as you open the door.

When you find 'Laura the English Major' standing on the other side of your door, you don't quite know how to process it.

She's wearing a white tank top, loose fitting track pants, and grey socks with little vampire bats dotted on them. Her hair is also up in a messy bun, a few strands draping down onto her collarbone. You demand your eyes to stop looking at her chest and you bring your eyes to meet hers, and smirk when you see a taken-back expression on her face.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart."

"What?" she blinks and shakes her head, "No- I'm not, I'm just-"

You raise your eyebrows as she stumbles over her words.

"Get them out, English Major," you tease.

"Oh shut up, I'm just, I'm half asleep."

"Well, then go back to bed."

She glares at you. 

"And before you ask, no I don't have any eggs." You say, before going to close the door.

"Wait-" she puts her hand on the door. "I wanted to come down to talk to you."

You hold the door open a little and look at her.

"I feel a little weird after last night, what with meeting you, and then us being neighbours and you being Danny's best friend... and I just don't want it to be weird and I don't want you to think that I don't like Danny, because I do, I really do, but I also just feel like maybe there's this thing that you and I need to-"

You wave a hand up to get her to stop talking.

"Whoa. Chill out, nothing happened." 

"Nothing?" she replies, surprised.

"Don't flatter yourself, cupcake. There is nothing that we need to worry about or even talk about." 

"Right, okay. Great." She says, seemingly deflated by your candour.

"Great."

"Well, I'll see you around then, I guess-"

"See you around." you say, closing the door before the words even finish leaving your lips. 


	3. Chapter 3

November 2014

 

You awkwardly hold the two mugs in between your chest and your arm, the bag of chips in one hand and the box of cocoa in the other. You look at the door in front of you and then at your lack of hands. You groan and lightly kick your boot against the door a few times to resemble a knock.

Laura opens the door to find you nearly losing your grip on the cocoa, clad in your track pants and a loose black tank top. Her eyes are puffy and her hair is a messy bun on the top of her head.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is sad and croaky, and you hate yourself for having the urge you to drop everything and pull her into a hug.

“Peace offering. Now grab something and let me in will ya’?”

She grabs the bag of chips and walks back into the living room, leaving the door open for you.

Her apartment is a pristine example of coordination and responsibility. Light walls, corners of the room adored with plants, and little tokens of geeky pop-culture décor that you don’t recognise.

She falls back onto the couch, ripping open the back of chips. From the Laura-shaped indent in the couch, the pillow and blanket she re-wraps herself in, as well as the Netflix show currently playing on the television, you deduce that she hasn’t left her current position in a while.

You go straight to the kitchenette and start making up the two cups of cocoa. You grab a jar of marshmallows from the side and plop a few in.

Does she usually have two? Or, maybe three?

You stare at the lonely looking threesome of marshmallows sitting on top of the chocolate. You tap a bit more from the jar.

Hm. Not enough.

You give another confident tap and the jar pours out over her mug.

Ugh, that’ll do.

You bring over the cocoa and sit next to her. You pass her the big blue mug, a mountain of marshmallows on top, before taking a sip from yours, with all of two marshmallows floating around in the brown drink.

She sits up and looks over at your mug and gives you and incredulous look.

“I forget how many you have.” You say simply, looking at the TV in front of you. “What are we watching?”

She cradles the cocoa in her hand and takes a bite out of the marshmallow mountain on top.

“A documentary about the hidden sugar content in food.” she says, mouth full of her daily intake of sugar, and then some.

“Oh, perfect.” You say, taking a sip from your mug.

A few minutes pass and she’s halfway through her sugar mountain when she gives you a small nudge.

“Hey,”

“Hi.” You nudge back.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Hollis.”

For a while you sit in a comfortable silence, watching the documentary. You find yourself mildly intrigued by it, even though it wouldn’t exactly be your first choice of show if you were going to put yourself through a Netflix marathon.

You finish your cocoa and put your mug on the side, a cookie-shaped coaster ready waiting for it.

“How’s Danny?” she offers up quietly.

“She’s alright,” you say, deciding you’ll leave out the details.

You’d just come from her place, and she was something of a sorry state. You’d been out helping Kirsch with his exercise drills when you’d both received her text;

**5:37 PM - Danny**   
**We broke up. This time it’s for good.**

You and Kirsch caught a cab over to hers straightaway, only to find Danny in a similar situation to how you find Laura now, puffy-eyed and hoarse. You and Kirsch had listened as Danny told you about yet another argument that they’d had.

You thought the context of the argument was trivial if you were being honest, but it seemed to mean a lot to Danny, and apparently to Laura too. Their conflict ended with a relationship-murdering conundrum from Danny;

**_“If you can’t do that, then I can’t do this anymore.”_ **

And with that Laura had left.

You admit, of course you were a little worried about Laura while Danny was telling you what had happened, but your intention was to stay with Danny and Kirsch all night. It wasn’t until Danny herself had asked you to go check on Laura that you thought you’d be doing otherwise.

“Please Carmilla, I know you two don’t always get along, but I know you care, and… I don’t want her to be alone.”

When you had responded with an indignant look of, ‘you can’t seriously be suggesting I go console your ex-girlfriend,’ she had responded with:

“Please, for me.”

You gave Kirsch a look, to which he responded with a shrug and a comforting, “I won’t go anywhere.”

Satisfied with that at least, you begrudgingly agreed and caught a cab back to your building.

Back at yours you changed into comfortable clothes and raided your cupboards for something to bring over. It felt weird going at all, let alone going empty handed. In truth, you hate drama and you hate situations exactly like this- this is why you don’t do relationships. Relationships are messy, and gross, and people always end up saying shit they don’t mean. When will people learn?

The last two months, hanging out around Danny and Laura had been somewhat insufferable. Danny was seemingly doe-eyed and chivalrous around the clock and Laura was perfectly delightful, which you responded to with sarcasm and brood. You and Laura had pretty much forgotten about how it all begun and for that you were grateful.

What a confusing cluster-bomb of a situation that could’ve turned out to be.

After initially deciding that you, in fact, disliked her delightfulness severely, you and Laura started to get on in the form of ‘somewhat-friendly-not-entirely-mean’ banter.

Living in the same building meant that you bumped into each other a lot, and where there’s an opportunity to throw a quip, you can’t help yourself, so you had, and she’d thrown the banter right back at you whenever you’d given it. Though it had to be noted, her insult game was particularly strong when she’d met you in the hallway after seeing women sneak out of your apartment the night before, or five minutes before, depending on the day.

With Laura came tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, or rather, LaFontaine and Lola Perry – people who you knew of previously just by appearance, but who you’d now been peer-pressured into getting to know further with Danny’s frequent pleads of, “Please just come and be nice.”

You wouldn’t be admitting it anytime soon, but they were actually okay company, and the six of you collectively had started something of a weekly gathering at one establishment or another.

Speaking of, you wondered where the ruby-haired duo were now. Surely it was their job to be here watching ridiculous documentaries with Laura, not yours.

“A bit of a messy break-up, huh.” You say, not really knowing what the appropriate tone for consolation is.

“Yeah, I guess.” She replies quietly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, rubbing the palms of your hands on your knees, hoping that she doesn’t.

“Not really,” she says, but then she continues anyway.

“It’s just- just...” she stops and huffs and shakes her head, folding her arms against her body, getting frustrated with herself as she can’t find the words.

“-I don’t know what Danny wants me to do. I can’t change who I am, and I can’t change how I feel. I’m trying to be as honest as I can with her.”

You hear the strain in her voice, and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her.

You love Danny- she’s like a sister to you, but you’ve (unwillingly) watched their relationship, first hand, and you’ve seen Danny self-destruct into a jealous, clinger of a girlfriend. You and Kirsch even tried talking to her about it, to no avail. From what you gather, Danny wanted something more from Laura, and Laura just wasn’t there yet.

“I know it’s shitty, but Danny will be all right. And so will you, you know. I'm sure you’ll be able to stay friends.” You say, giving her knee a tap.

She gives you a small smile and another nudge.

“Thanks Carm,”

“Anytime, cupcake.” You say, giving her your best attempt at a comforting smile in return.

Another minute of silence passes before Laura breaks the noise again.

“So,” she turns to you, blanket all wrapped up around her, and you can’t help but give her a funny look. She’s so weird.

“-are we friends now too?” she asks, sticking her hand out of the blanket and offering it to you along with the question.

“You’re dreaming, E.T” you tease.

She groans and slumps back down in her seat.

“All right, all right,” You give in quick and grab her hand, giving it a firm shake, “-friends.”

Laura grins smugly to herself and looks back to the television. You want to wipe the smug look off her face, so you grab a corner of the blanket and yank at it, pulling over half of it off her.

“Hey!-”

“-Friends share.” You interject. “And you ate my chips.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this little brain ramble of mine - I hope you're enjoying it so far!


	4. Chapter 4

September 2017

 

Another hour has passed, the bar has emptied, and six have now become three.

Laura, LaF and yourself sit at the bar, all at varying stages of inebriation.

“So, when do you leave Lau?” LaF asks, resting their head in their hands as they look to Laura beside them. You’re sitting on the other side of Laura, staring at your empty glass in front of you. You lift your finger up to the barkeep for another.

“I’m booked to go in three weeks, but technically start the position in four. I want to have a week to myself to explore the city a little bit. Man, I can’t wait to meet Sherlock Holmes’s house... You know his house is right there on Baker Street, right? Near Baker Street station? _On_ Baker Street.” Laura replies, somewhat dreamily, no doubt an effect of all the celebratory peach schnapps she’s consumed in the last hour.

LaF smiles and nods deliberately, turning to the barkeep pouring whiskey into your glass,

“Can we get a water over here? Great- thanks.” they whisper-mouth.

They turn back to Laura with an overly-encouraging nod.

“That sounds, AWESOME.”

“Doesn’t it? Right?! -Oh god, I need to pee.” Laura breathes out, getting up from her seat and making her way to the bathroom.

“You want me to come?” LaF offers, Laura giggles and waves a hand at her- an attempt at a nonchalant, ‘No, don’t be silly, I’m fine!’ as she pushes into the door marked, ‘TOILETS’.

“Sweet baby Jesus.” LaF says as soon Laura is out of sight, laughing as they sip on their drink with a straw. They look at you as you put down your glass, whiskey already gone.

“You wanna talk about it?” they ask, fiddling with the band on their ring finger again. You hate the knowing look of pity on their face so much, it makes you want to scream.

“About what?” You say casually.

You look at LaF, trying to appear concentrated, yet casual, and as if your brain isn’t going a mile a minute, reliving every lost opportunity with Laura- as if you aren't picturing the freight train that is the future, speeding up to such an extent that the wheels are sparking and blowing off the train, throwing itself at you, in all it’s metallic glory.

LaF gives you a look. You roll your eyes.

“Seriously, everything’s fine.”

They roll their eyes at you now.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” you ask, your patience losing.

“Because it’s _you and Laura_ , Carmilla.” They sigh, sounding defeated.

They check their phone and finish their drink. They say something about having to get home and they make you promise you’ll make sure that Laura drinks enough water, and blah, blah, blah.

Laura comes out the bathroom a few minutes later, and she looks to you sitting at the bar alone now. She quizzically looks around the bar, her hands on her hips.

“Where’s my LaF?” she asks, the whole, empty bar, bringing her hand above her eyes, to better her sight.

You roll your eyes and get up from your seat, grabbing the water bottle from the bar and Laura’s tote bag from the ground.

“It’s just you and me kid,” you say, opening the bottle of water for her and putting it in her hand.

“Let’s go home.”

You call a cab and sit outside on the front step to the now closed bar, with drunken Laura. Your coat and arm are wrapped securely around her, for body warmth purposes of course, as she babbles in your ear about something to do with that Christmas-special episode of Doctor Who, that she _still_ isn’t over, wielding her empty water bottle as if it’s a ‘screwdriver’, whatever the hell that means.

She is _so_ weird.

“Thank god,” you say, when you see the yellow car stop in front of you. You pull her to her feet and all but throw her into the backseat.

The car ride is less than five minutes long, but with Laura still babbling about something or another, you’re positive that you (and the taxi driver) have aged about ten years.

“Keep the change, dude.” You say, as you pass him a note and manoeuvre Laura out of the vehicle and to the dormitory building. By this point, she’s nearly falling asleep against your shoulder and your patience is long gone.

“Come on, Hollis, just give me a few more steps.” You grunt, carrying most of her weight now as you open the front door, walking her down the hall towards the lift.

You live on the ground floor, Laura lives on the first, and with that in mind, it might have been sensible to just save the trip and let her crash at your apartment tonight, but considering how things have been between the two of you the past few months… you decide that scenario would be a crisis well averted.

The lift dings; “Ding!” Laura declares, before pulling you into it with her.

When you exit the lift, you exit with her tote bag around your neck, falling in front of your chest, and Laura now on your back, having decided during the lift ride that a piggy-back from you was entirely necessary and the only means that she could travel in this very moment.

“Mush!” she yells energetically, though her limbs are the opposite of energetic, hanging like sandbags either side of you. You grit your teeth and make a firm mental reminder to never let LaF leave you to deal with drunk Laura alone, ever again.

When you reach the front door, you lean forward and keep one of your arms back around her, while the other goes into the tote bag in front of you, fishing for her door keys.

You grab what feels like a quidditch-ball shaped key ring and pull it out, muttering a, ‘thank you,’ to the universe when you see the keys attached to the little golden key ring.

You can’t unlock the door quick enough, and within the next minute, Laura is a but a mere lump, lying passed-out on her bed.

You stand at the foot of the bed with your hands on your hips, catching your breath, and shaking your head at the state of the woman who just made you carry her half the way home.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re shaking your head disapprovingly at her, or at the fact that you can’t stand the idea of being without her, regardless of all the ‘mush-ing’.

You pull off her shoes, and place them on the floor next to her bed.

You quickly duck into the kitchenette and grab a glass of water and a packet of aspirin from her cabinet above the sink. You put both items on the bedside next to her.

You sit lightly on the bed and pull her blanket up over her. She mumbles slightly and grabs a hold of your hand and brings it up to her face, as if it’s a pillow.

“Carm?” she whispers, eyes still shut.

“Yeah, it’s me.” You whisper back, giving her hand a squeeze and moving her hair from her face.

“Go to sleep now.” you say quietly, even though you know she’s already there.

“Please don’t leave me again.” She mumbles back, before drifting back out of consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos, friends, and thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

December 2014

 

Over the next month, you find yourself being more civil with Laura, friendly even – you are supposedly friends now after all. 

The situation between her and Danny seems to have lightened up, and the six of you still meet at least once a week on campus; a pointless gathering you think, but you go along anyway, your head in a book rather than in any conversation. 

The Christmas holidays fast approach and you find yourself in a growing state of repulsion with every new Christmas decoration that goes up in the halls of Silas U.

Christmas, to you at least, a moneymaking, cringeworthy, fake-holiday, where everyone puts a lot of time and a lot effort into pretending that winter and tinsel isn’t the worst thing, ever. 

When the decorations started making their way to the communal areas of your dormitory building, you found yourself bee-lining to your apartment with such haste, that anyone would think there was something contagious in the air.

The only relief that came with Christmas was the knowledge that you would have most of the campus to yourself for a little while.

Danny and Kirsch always went home for the holidays and on occasion you had even been peer-pressured to join them and their families. This year however, you declined any invitations and bit-by-bit the crowds had withered down to just a select few. By the time Christmas ‘Eve-Eve’ had come around, Silas University seemed nothing more than a ghost town. 

Out of the many buildings at Silas, if you had to pick a favourite, the library would be the one.

There was something magical about this library in particular – rustic and ancient in its architecture, but clearly loved. Mahogany lines the room, each wall full to the brim with bookcases and a never-ending supply books. A wooden spiral staircase at one side of the room leads to another floor with much of the same.

Books have always spoken to you in a way that people were never able to, and in turn, you’ve been able to understand books a whole lot more than you did people. Now, while your everyday was filled with the factual and non-fictional readings of law cases and study texts, your evenings were filled with gothic stories from yesteryear, and the curious ramblings of philosophers who questioned every corner of the universe.

Wandering down one of the aisles, you scope out the titles, looking for the next one to sink your teeth into. You lean down and pick a book from the shelf and you’re taken aback by the sudden whiff of vanilla and fresh cotton.

Your eyebrows rise as you see what looks like the back of Laura’s head through the gap in the shelf. She’s sitting on the ground in the next aisle, dressed in a light blue Oxford shirt and jeans, her head in a textbook, sleeves rolled up and a notepad and pen on the floor next to her.

“You come here often?” you whisper through the shelves.

She jolts and lets out a little shriek before whipping her head around to face you.

You give her a mischievous grin through the gap in the shelf.

“You didn’t really just say ‘jeepers’ did you?” you say, your face cringing in a mocking disbelief, “Tell me that ‘jeepers’ wasn’t your subconscious swear of choice-”

“God, you’re annoying!” she whisper-yells at you.

“You’re too easy, Hollis. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was enjoying the peace and quiet until now,”

“I thought you would’ve left for the holidays?” you ask, curious.

Laura Hollis seems like a holiday-season kind of gal to you – with the awful Christmas sweaters, and all.

“Not this year. Dad’s going on a fishing trip with his buddies and fishing just isn’t my thing. Why are _you_ still here?”

“Christmas isn’t my thing.” You say, squirming at the very thought.

“Of course it isn’t.” she says, rolling her eyes.

You take a seat on the ground and lean back on the shelving between you both, grabbing your glasses from the case in your backpack.

“What are you doing?” Laura whispers through the gap behind you.

“Reading, genius. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy the peace and quiet…”

You can’t see it, but you picture another eye-roll from her as she mutters to herself, the sound of furious scribbling filling the silence now.

An hour goes by, and then two, and then before you know it, the lights are being dimmed. You push your glasses to the top of your head and check the time; there never seems to be enough of it.

You turn around to the gap in the shelf.

“How’s it going Lauronica-” you stop, mid-whisper, when you see Laura lying asleep on her front, face in her notepad, and pen still in hand.

You get up and wander around the corner to her and give her a small nudge with your boot.

“-What do you mean I have to reference my references!?” she yells awake, looking both mildly confused and worried at the same time.

Both the volume and the question startle you, and you look around the library for any fellow witnesses.

“Jesus, scream it a little louder, Laura, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“-Where? What? Oh right- right, I’m sorry. I was dreaming… uh, about-”

“About referencing… Yeah, I got that part.” you say, leaning down and helping her to gather her things.

She pulls her shoes back on and gets to her feet, stretching her arms up above her head in a very catlike manner, her shirt rising up ever so slightly. From the little conversation you’ve had with Laura over the past few months, you didn’t think she was into exercise of any kind, but the faint and teasing lines of definition in her abdominal muscles tell a very different story. You tell yourself to snap the hell out of it, and you look away.

“Walk me home?” she asks sleepily through a yawn, oblivious to your wandering eyes.

 

\--

 

The air is crisp and the sun has started to set, bright and vibrant colours leaking into the sky. 

“It’s so pretty,” Laura says, looking up as she walks with her arms crossed, a takeaway coffee cup held close to her chest for warmth.

You manage a quiet, “Mm-hmm”, before she starts talking again.

“I just love the colour of a sunset.”

“Colours, you mean.”

“Well, yeah, you know what I mean.” She says, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Well, no, I mean – the sky always has those colours in it.” 

“…No it doesn’t.”

“…Yes it does.”

“ _No_ , it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

She squints her eyes at you, her eyes doing all the talking; _‘No it doesn’t’_.

“Technically, the sky is _always_ a rainbow.” you say, somewhat matter-of-factly.

She raises an eyebrow.

“That is a questionable pick-up-line, Carmilla. I think you’re losing your edge.” She says, a small smirk creeping onto her face.

“What? No. Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart!” You retort, stopping mid-stride and shaking your head at her, a smirk on your own face to match her own.

“Well, then, you’re still wrong because I see… maybe, two colours at most.” She says, stopping to look up at the sky, a pout on her lips, and hands stubbornly on her hips.

“Well, no, _you’re_ wrong. Look,” you start, putting your hand on her shoulder to angle her line of sight while you point up at the horizon. Her eyes follow your hand as you point out the subtle divides in colour across the sky.

“See the sun, where it’s starting to set? Well, the sun is made up of every colour in the spectrum, but all that we end up seeing is a bright, white light – but every single colour is there. And in the day, when we think we just see blue, that’s only because when the light hits the atmosphere, colour wavelengths scatter and our eyes can only see the ones that travel in shorter waves; the blues, purples, and so on.”

Laura nods her head silently as you continue, away with your thoughts now.

“I mean, if you think about it, it’s like the planet is wrapped up in this blanket, or canvas, of a sky and we’re standing here just seeing one part of it, and at the same time, somewhere else on the other side of the planet, people will be looking up at the very same thing, and we won’t ever be able to tell where one part started and the other ended – because really, it never does. The whole thing is a giant watercolour that consists of a beginning, middle _and end_ , everywhere and nowhere, and all at once… It’s fascinating really.”

You turn to look at her and notice something different in her eyes. There’s something bashful and almost childlike in the way that she’s looking at you, and you don’t quite know what to make of it. You realise you’ve gone off on a tangent that probably doesn’t make sense to anyone but yourself. 

“But anyway.” You drop your hand from her shoulder. “The point is. Yes it _does_ , and you’re wrong.” You clear your throat. “Let’s get outta’ this cold.”                                                                                                                   

 

\--

 

As you both enter the apartment building, you grimace as you see the newly arranged multi-coloured lights that hang loosely around each doorframe. The walls are dotted with holly leaves and little branches of mistletoe, and to any one else it would probably be quite a lovely sight. 

You go to your door and turn your key, so ready to escape from the decked halls and into the safety of your un-hollied apartment.

“Well see you around, Hollis.” You say, opening your door and walking in.

“Wait a sec! What are you doing tomorrow?”

You turn towards her, “Why?”

She stands at your door, kind of awkwardly, looking like she’s holding back the urge to tug at the sleeves of her shirt.

“Well, I mean… it’s Christmas _Eve_ ,” She says, dragging out the ‘Eve’ bit, as if it were a key piece of information, “and if you didn’t have plans, I was thinking that maybe we could hang out and eat our weight in cookie-dough, maybe watch some cheesy Christmas movies, and then eat some more… you know, things people do on Christmas Eve?”

Your face involuntarily creases up into some form of a frown and you can’t help yourself, “Sorry cupcake, I’m not one of those people.” You say, giving her a small look that is almost sorry, but mostly, not sorry.

As you close the door, you barely catch a glimpse of the disappointed pout on her face.

You lean against the door and take a second to let out a quiet sigh. This whole thing is proving more inconvenient than you could’ve imagined. As much as you can try to tell yourself otherwise, the idea of spending the entire day with Laura Hollis doesn’t exactly repulse you. In fact it does something else – the complete opposite, and it is for that reason that you are convinced that you need to avoid it like the plague.

You drop your bag in the corner and walk into your apartment, making your way towards the bathroom, taking off your clothes as you go, leaving a trail of clothing behind you.

Getting into the shower, the water hits your skin and you feel the weight of today slowly falling off your body and down the plughole.

_Pull yourself together._ You tell yourself, scolding yourself for having images of only Laura in your head right now. Why was this happening? She wasn’t even the kind you usually went for, but ever since you met there’s been something about her, and you couldn’t for the life of you put your finger on what it was.

You need to take your mind off of everything; you need to not think about Laura and her playful remarks, or her golden-hazel eyes, or that smile that she gives you. Getting out of the shower, you grab your phone and you send a text.

 

**7:42 PM**

**Come over.**

You roughly towel-dry your hair and pull on a loose fitting pair of track pants and a cropped muscle-tee.

Barely twenty minutes goes by before there’s a firm knock at your door. Opening it, you’re met with a pretty blonde’s picture-perfect face. She’s looking at you with a look you’ve seen many times before.

She’s telling herself, _this is the last time_ , but all it takes is a simple, _‘Hey,’_ in that raspy, standoffish tone of yours, for a small smirk to find her lips before she steps forward and pulls you into a kiss.

 

\--

 

Your breathing is heavy and rhythmic, and your heart is pounding in your chest. Beads of sweat drip down your face as you push yourself, harder, faster, trying to ignore the dryness in the back of your throat, or the aching in your muscles.

A woman’s voice cuts in over your breathing, and she talks right into your ear: “Distance, ten kilometres. Time, forty-three minutes, twenty-one seconds. Average pace, seven minutes, ten seconds, per kilometre.”

Your legs come to a burning halt and your lean over, catching your breath.

You check your watch. 8:45AM.

You’d woken that morning in a familiar position – at the crack of down and with a woman in your bed. Even more familiar that that however, was the empty space that the woman would wake to. You’d always made your position clear, and more often than not, the women you slept with were like-minded women, interested in forgetting about the real world for a night… or maybe two. That had satisfied you for a long time, as long as you can remember really, until now.

For whatever reason, over the last few months, you weren’t feeling the same thrill – the same satisfaction – that you once had. The flame had died out and you were out of matches.

Part of your subconscious was slowly putting together the pieces, quietly trying to let you know that it had, in fact, started the moment you met Laura Hollis and realised you couldn’t have her. She was too good for you – she had dated Danny for god’s sake, who was the epitome of all things noble and wholesome and they hadn’t worked out. How on earth could you better that?

This subconscious part of your brain remained mostly silent however, only making itself known in the little moments when you found yourself alone with her; looking at her, watching her eyes as they met yours, and that smile that she gave you that made your palms sweaty and your throat dry; and like a defence mechanism, a stronger part of your subconscious had told you to avoid those feelings because they were alien and dangerous and unknown.

Self-preservation was the key to survival.

By the time you get back to your apartment, you find it empty and you’re relieved. You go about your morning routine; showering, changing, caffeinating; and by the time you look at your watch, only an hour has gone by and you still have the whole day ahead of you. You sit yourself on the ground of your living room, alongside your bookcase. Next to you on the ground, an open cardboard box with ‘STUFF’ scribbled on the side sits.

You run your hand through your hair and pull a worn photo album out of the box.

You flick through the pages, looking at the old photos and trying to feel something other than, well, nothing. The faces in the photographs staring back at you now, are strangers, even the one that looks like you.

A knock at your door brings you back out of your head and you get to your feet and drop the album back into the box.

You open your door to find Laura Hollis standing in front of you, dressed in an oversized Christmas sweater, emblazoned with functioning led lights and the hand-embroidered words, _HAPPY HOLIDAYS!_

On her head, a well-fitted Santa-hat, with her long hair flowing radiantly out of the bottom of it. Hugged against her chest, a huge bag that she has to hold up with both arms and all her strength, tinsel sticking out of the top of it.

“What are you doing-” Before you can even finish, she walks past you and into your apartment; a festive blur of colour, and the smell of fresh cotton and vanilla.

“I don’t care how much of a Grinch you are, Carmilla Karnstein, and I know we don’t know each other very well, but I am not going to let you spend Christmas Eve alone and, and un-festive! _And,_ I’d rather not spend it alone either, so sue me if I believe in Christmas spirit, and friends spending time together, and colours other than black and grey!” she blurts out, barely coherent, sounding frustrated and excited, as she drops the bag onto your couch.

You close the door and look down at your outifit; black jeans and a grey shirt, black and grey striped socks. So what if colour isn’t really your thing?

You puzzle over this for all of a millisecond, before looking back to the human Christmas tree currently in your living room.

“All right, creampuff, don’t give yourself an aneurism.” You say, and watch as she unloads what you can only assume to be the contents of a department store Christmas display onto your floors.

 

\--

 

If someone had told you that you would be spending Christmas Eve, sitting in the middle of your living room, untangling Christmas tree lights, after having set up and decorated said Christmas tree, you would’ve laughed in that person’s face and told them to screw themselves. 

Yet, here you find yourself, doing just that.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe people go through this out of choice.” You mutter, mostly to yourself, as your fingers try to unscramble the wiry mess, your patience withered down to the last tether.

If Laura had heard you, she’s chosen to ignore your complaints, keeping herself busy in the kitchenette. She is leaning down and checking on the progress of whatever baked-good she currently has cooking in the oven.

Over the last three hours or so, your apartment has had a festive makeover, with fairy lights now dangling from the ceiling and the smell of warm cookie dough filling the air. If Danny or Kirsch could see you now, they would be calling for someone to exorcise you.

Finally, you managed to untangle the last bit of the lights, and you plug them in.

You stand up to assess your work; your head tilting to the side slightly and your arms folded in front of you as you look at the tree and it’s blinking lights.

Laura comes up next to you and sighs happily.

“See – was that so difficult?” She asks, somewhat smugly.

“Yes. Yes it was.”

“Oh come on, just for one second, ignore the fact that you find all of this cheesy and lame, and stupid, and just look at it all for what it is.” She says, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving you a little squeeze. “It’s beautiful. That’s why people choose to do it.”

That little voice from your subconscious makes a mental appearance and you feel your heart swell uncomfortably in your chest.

You put an arm around her shoulder and return the small squeeze.

“I guess it’s not too hideous.”

The rest of the day is spent on the couch, gorging over the array of star-shaped cookies and slices of freshly baked brownies and ‘healthy’ banana bread. You’ve watched Home Alone, 1 and 2, and are just about halfway through Elf.

Comedies aren’t really your thing, but you can’t help but smirk at a few of the jokes now and then. You steal a glance at Laura to your right and you love the way she’s so taken by this movie. She’s laying on the couch with her head on a pillow, her hair is up in a messy bun and her feet in your lap, a grey and black throw covers you both, though more of her than you. 

“It’s a classic, _okay_. We can’t not watch it.” She had announced, after you rolled your eyes at her offering of yet another Christmas movie.

“Can’t we watch Die Hard instead? That’s a Christmas movie.” You say as the movie starts. She turns up the volume. “Ssh, it’s starting.”

You let out a small laugh at yet another well-timed joke from Will Ferrell. You feel a bit of a chill and pull at the throw slightly, “You can tell you’re an only child, cupcake,” indicating her throw-to-body ratio compared to your own.

“Well, quit your whining and share with me then.” She grumbles, moving forward on the couch and patting the space behind her.

That little nagging voice of self-preservation creeps into your head again, but you don’t listen.

“Fine. Move up, loser.” You say, squeezing in behind her and laying on your side.

You prop your head up with your hand and find yourself feeling both incredibly comfortable and uncomfortable at the close proximity of your bodies. You drape an arm over her waist over the top of the throw. Friends do this all the time, right?

You lose interest in the movie on the screen and instead find yourself captivated by the smell of her shampoo and the little space on the back of her neck. A small giggle escapes Laura’s mouth at another joke from the movie, and she shuffles a little in front of you. Your lick your lips and clear your throat quietly – by the dryness of your throat you feel like you’ve run a marathon. You spend the rest of the movie trying to mentally map out a constellation from the freckles on her neck.

 

\--

 

Your eyes can barely stay open and it takes a few abstract thoughts and a quick jolt to your body – like the feeling of falling – to realise that you’re halfway to dreaming. You blink awake and you see the clock on the wall, both of the hands pointing upwards to twelve.

You both have been asleep for a while; the television is on standby and the room is still and silent and warm.

“Hey, it’s midnight.” You mumble, nudging Laura lightly. She stirs and buries herself into your chest. It takes you a minute to realise that she’s facing you, and your arm is still draped around her waist.

“Mm? Oh. Merry Christmas, Carmilla.” She mumbles, opening her eyes and giving a small smile, and in one swift and nonchalant movement, leaning up and pressing a small and quick kiss to your cheek.

You’re frozen for that moment, and then the moment is over, and she’s looking at you with that smile, and you’re looking back at her, not really knowing what to make of this woman who, over the last two months, has simultaneously ruined and made, every day that you’ve had with her.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” You say, your arm tightening around her waist.

You fall asleep together, and just like that, Christmas doesn’t seem so bad anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, sorry for the ridiculous delay on this chapter!
> 
> The last few weeks have been busy times, and I forget how time flies. Thank you again for reading, and thank you for sticking around for this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy.

September 2017

 

The next morning you wake to the smell of coffee, vanilla, and fresh cotton. You open your eyes and see a mug sitting on the coffee table in front with you, steam floating into the air above it.

You sit up and look around, and it takes you a minute to orientate yourself with your surroundings. The sound of a cutlery drawing opening behind you grabs your attention, and you’re surprised to find Laura standing in her kitchenette, showered and dressed. You grab the coffee and take a sip, the warmth of it blanketing around you and waking you up in that soothing way that coffee always does.

“Good morning, drunkard,” you say, turning to lean on the back of the couch.

She looks up at you and smiles, shaking her head of wet hair, looking frankly, beautiful, though you can tell there’s also a shade of embarrassment there.

You’ve come to realise that Laura with wet hair, standing in her kitchenette, is one of your favourite things.

“Don’t even – I’m so sorry – I’m making you apology pancakes as we speak.”

“You absolutely are not,” you say, getting up from the couch, coffee in hand, to investigate.

You lean on the counter next to the stove and watch as she does, indeed, make up a batch of pancakes.

“I absolutely am.” she says confidently.

“You know that’s completely unnecessary right?” you say, even though after last night’s performance, maybe you do deserve a pancake – or two.

Laura lets out a loud laugh, “You and I both know that isn’t true!”

“Okay, maybe a _few_ pancakes are in order.” You say, taking a sip from your coffee and looking at her from over the top of your mug.

 

\--

 

Five glorious helpings of blueberry pancakes later and you find yourself doing the dishes in the little kitchenette as she makes up another two mugs of coffee. You don’t really talk about much. In fact, there hasn’t been much talking at all since you got up, just a few words here and there. It’s all filler conversation that you can tell is being used to fill the silences.

She leaves you a fresh cup on the side before disappearing into her bedroom.

You put the now clean dishes on the side to drain, and you resent the domesticated part of you that seems to develop, and even evolve, whenever you find yourself around Laura, and then of course, you remember that you won’t have to worry about it for much longer.

You grab your coffee and walk into the little hallway and towards her bedroom. The door is open, so you lean on the doorway and look in. She’s moving around in some sort of organised manner, making little piles of things – clothes, shoes, and knick-knacks. Your heart sinks a little when you realise she’s starting to pack her room up.

“So… three weeks, huh.” You say, clearing your throat a little and taking a sip.

Laura looks up at you and tucks her hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah. Crazy, I can’t quite believe it’s happening actually.” She says, looking back to her piles of stuff and adding more things to them.

You can’t either.

“…How come you didn’t tell me?” you ask, and when you do, you realise just how much it bothered you that you didn’t know.

She looks up at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve stepped on a mine. Your finger traces around the bottom of your cup and you bite your lip. Hindsight would tell you that you had, in fact, entered a minefield.

“I was going to tell you after the wedding, but then you disappeared, and well-” her eyes drop from yours and begin to focus on the clothes in front of her as she begins to fold, and fold again. “-I don’t know. I figured it meant you probably didn’t care.”

You don’t even know where to begin on how stupid that sounds to you, and the feeling must be plain on your face, because she reacts to it instantly.

“I mean, how could I _not_ think that, Carm?” her voice is quiet, and a little sad, and you hate that you’re capable of making her voice sound like that.

“I just needed time to think, Laura. That was all.”

That seems to strike a chord with her and maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say, because now her face has stiffened and her folding becomes more severe. The sadness in her voice is replaced with a firm tone of annoyance.

“Right. Okay.”

“Look, I know I should’ve stayed,” You say, trying to dig yourself back out of this hole, and maybe even this conversation.

“You can do whatever you want, Carmilla.”

The silence that follows is awkward, and you realise this morning is the first time the two of you have been sober and alone since the night of the wedding.

You had intended to avoid this situation for as long as possible. Granted, you don’t like it, but you understand her frustration with you; you knew _exactly_ what you were doing when you left at the break of dawn.

In fact, your _exact_ intention was to not spend another minute alone with her, until you could figure out what it all meant – but it wasn’t to hurt her. That was never part of the plan.

_Self-preservation._

You wish you could just tell her how you felt; how confusing it all was, how you needed help figuring it all out, but you were too proud for that. The Karnsteins’ had always been proud, and although you skipped out on most of the Karnstein traits, you didn’t miss out on that one.

“I don’t have an explanation for you, Laura,” You say, sounding as sorry as you felt, though you know it’s not good enough. You wanted to add, ‘not yet’, to the end of the sentence, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it when it sounded like a promise. You weren’t all that sure you’d be able to keep it.

“I don’t know what else to say.” You say, looking down at your feet.

“You don’t have to say anything. I get it,” She says, her eyes down and focused on the same shirt she’s folded three times now. “Thank you for getting me home last night, but I… uh, I have a lot to do today, and I think I need you to go.” She says, looking up at you now. The tone of her voice is somewhat uncertain, but firm. You nod at her, looking at her for a moment, before having to look elsewhere. You can’t stand the look in her eyes.

“Of course. Thanks for breakfast.” You say, your voice as cold as the air in the room. It isn’t fair of course, but you can’t help it.

 

\--

 

Back in your apartment you pace around your bed and curse the fact that you live in the same building because even now, you still don’t feel far enough away; you can still smell her shampoo and the goddamn blueberry pancakes.

If you stopped pacing, you’re sure you’d be able to hear her quiet breathing as she sits in her disappointed silence. It makes you want to scream.

Instead, you pick up a book from your nightstand and throw it across the room, letting out a yell of frustration as it hits the wall and falls onto the floor, cover spread and pages down.

You stand with your eyes closed and your hands on your head for a moment as you try and collect yourself. You take a breath and run your hands through your hair. Pull it together, Karnstein.

You go to the book and sit yourself on the ground next to it. You pick it up delicately, pursing your lips as you turn it, hoping to find all the pages still intact.

The book is aged and worn, but not through your negligence. _“1919 Edition”_ is stamped into the cover in the bottom corner – the typography is classical and reminiscent of the font you see at the beginning of old Hollywood movies.

You rest the book on your knees and open it to the first page and read the handwritten note scrawled inside. You’ve read it a thousand times, but it still makes you smile, though today, and lately, there’s also been a sting as you read the words.

 

\--

 

Christmas Day 2014

You wake up to the feeling of warmth.

It is a different kind of feeling, and not the kind of warmth that is limited to that given by a thick jacket, or a tight hug, or a blazing fire – it is something of a combination of all three, and if you took the time to consider it, you’d realise it had come from spending the night with your arm wrapped around Laura Hollis’s waist, with her head buried into the space between your chest and your chin – a little nook that feels as though it was made for her, and only her, to burrow in. Lying next to each other, holding each other – that was the reason for this feeling.

You reach your hand forward and feel the space in front of you and open your eyes when your palm finds an empty space. You sit up, your hair sticking up in more than just a few places, and stretch your arms above your head, letting out a big yawn, the blanket falling from your shoulders and collecting in a fabric puddle in your lap.

“Creampuff, where you at,” you call out, your voice dry and raspy.

You rub your eyes and turn around towards the sound of a running tap being shut off in the bathroom, followed by the light padding of footsteps that get louder as Laura comes running in from the hallway.

“You’re awake – finally!” she says, like an excited child on Christmas morning. Oh, wait.

“Merry Christmas!” she exclaims, plopping on the couch next to you.

You try and hold back your smile, but by the grin on her face, you feel like she sees right through it.

“Merry Christmas.” You say back, not as reluctantly as you would’ve expected.

Your eyes dart to her arms, which are being held behind her back, then to her eyes and you squint slightly, putting together her smug look with her suspiciously hidden arms.

“Now, hold on a second, please tell me you haven’t-”

From behind her back she produces an immaculately wrapped present, the grin on her face only getting wider.

“-Duh, of course I did! It’s _Christmas_!” she says, taking your hands and placing the gift in them. “I hope you like it.”

You feel your cheeks redden and a pang of guilt starts in your chest, and you mentally scold yourself for being such an unprepared scrooge.

“Damnit, Laura… I’m sorry, I, uh, I, didn’t get you anything.” You say, holding the present in your hands and looking down at it awkwardly.

To your surprise Laura just lets out a laugh and puts her hand on yours.

“Don’t be silly. You let me spend Christmas with you.” She says soothingly, her touch giving you that warm feeling again. “In any case, I would expect nothing less from the Grinch.” she says smirking at you and giving you a little nudge to the shoulder, “Well go on, open it!”

You sit cross-legged across from her and feel along the edges of the present. You purse your lips slightly and bite the inside of your cheek; you’re pretty certain you know what it is and you have to admit, you’re more than a little intrigued – maybe _excited_ even. As you start to unwrap it, you think about the irony of wrapping a book, in paper, only to rip off said paper to reveal more paper. The universe is weird.

Laura’s eyes are on you as you open up the gift. You’re too focused on unwrapping it to notice the brief look of doubt that is on her face. If you were to look up at her, you’d see that she might even be a little bit nervous.

You rip off the last of the paper off and you take in a quiet breath.

You handle the aged, old, book as if it could crumble with one wrong move. You read the title aloud.

“How To Identify The Stars.”

On the inside of the cover a little note has been scribbled in pencil.

 

_“We come out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust.”_

_One night I was looking at the sky, and I was thinking about how I’d never seen anything more lovely, and then out of nowhere, you said, ‘Hi’._

 

You read over it again, and again. And. Again. 

Your thoughts are interrupted suddenly.

“–I, uh, just saw it at an old bookstore, and uh, being the huge, sky-space-universe know-it-all that you are, I thought you might like it,” Laura begins, as if she feels the need to explain herself. Her rant continues. “–And I know you probably already know how to actually identify the stars, but I thought it might be interesting to compare it all to what it was like that long ago, and also I just thought that it looked cool and old, and it’s not colourful at all, so I thought you’d appreciate that, and if not I thought, maybe you could just use it as an antique paperweight, or–”

You raise your eyebrows at the word-vomit currently projecting out of Laura’s mouth and you let out a laugh. You shake your head and put your hands on Laura’s shoulders. “Hey,” you say, promptly shutting her up and bringing her back into the room.

“It’s amazing.” You say, giving her shoulders a small squeeze.

 _You’re amazing._ You want to say, but it doesn’t come out.

“I love it.” You say, again, in case she needs more confirmation. Another small squeeze to her shoulders and her face lightens.

She lets out a breath and a little awkward giggle, “Thank _god_.”

You drop your hands from her shoulders and look back to the book again. You glance up at her and smile; the silence is comfortable, and warm, like sitting in front of a blazing fire in a warm jacket and a tight hug.

 

\--

 

The next few days are something of a blur to you.

Christmas day was spent very much like Christmas Eve, the two of you in each other’s company, watching an assortment of movies with vague-ish ‘Christmas’ themes, with some more blatant than others (you did somehow manage to get Laura to agree to add Die Hard into the watch list) and then before you knew it, the day had turned to night and the two of you had fallen asleep again, much like the previous night; on your couch, under your blanket and with arms entangled around each others bodies, in that way that ‘friends’ totally do.

When it came to Boxing Day morning, you find yourself somewhat disappointed to wake to Laura packing up her assortment of Christmas decorations and knick-knacks, your apartment looking less and less festive with each bit of tinsel taken down.

But of course that was fine – because Christmas was over. And _thank god_ for that, because you were just friends. And you, being an entirely independent being, were in need of your own space again; because _of course_ three days in a row with her were more than enough.

Of _course_ it was.

You tell yourself that, repeatedly.

When she’s standing at your door, her fingers are fiddling with the handle of her bag, and she’s rolling somewhat awkwardly on her heels, as if she’s waiting for something.

“Thank you, for all of this.” You say, giving a small smile. “Not the worst Christmas I’ve ever had.”

A small, smug, smirk reaches the corner of her mouth and you can’t help but notice the slight twinge of pink on her cheeks.

“The pleasure was all mine.”

The gap between you suddenly feels suffocating, and the silence that follows is somewhat loud, and almost expectant of something.

You clear your throat, and as if she was thinking the same thing, you both speak at once.

“So-“

“So are you-”

You let out an awkward laugh and run your hand through your hair.

“You go.”

“So,” she starts, clearing her throat quietly, with a small shy smile on her face.

“I’ll see you at Kirsch’s New Years’ Party?” she asks, her fingers at that bag handle again.

You raise an eyebrow and purse your lips into a smirk.

“Not if I see you first, cupcake.”

 

\--

 

New Year’s Eve 2014

 

“Hey, let’s go get a better view for the count!” Laura yells over the thumping noise of the music – talking to the whole group, but looking over at you. She grabs your hand and pulls you through the crowd, not really letting you have a say in the matter. You follow her out of the bar and find yourself swept into a crowd of students making who had the same idea. 

People gather in their groups, huddling for warmth, an exciting chatter filling the air. Against the wall of the Red Dragon, a makeshift bar has been set up.

When you look around you realise your own group has dispersed somewhat with LaF and Perry to one side, lighting their sparklers eagerly and talking in excited but hushed whispers, and Danny and Kirsch getting in the line for more drinks, while deep in a yelling match of some kind – probably over something insignificant and sports related, as usual.

You look down at your hand and find Laura’s gloved hand still holding onto it and you feel that weird and warm fuzzy feeling again. It’s kind of sickening, but at this point, there’s no denying that it’s there.

She looks around suddenly and with her free hand pats her jacket pocket.

“Damnit, my phone’s in my bag, I was gonna call my dad right after.”

“I’ll get it. Wait here.” You offer.

“Okay,” she says, giving you that look, and that smile, and making your chest both sink and soar at the same time, “I’ll grab us some drinks.”

“Sure. Be right back.” You say, giving her a quick wink.

She gives your hand a small squeeze before letting go and wandering into the crowd towards the makeshift bar.

You swivel on your heel and rush back into the bar. You turn back to catch a glimpse of her. As the doors swing shut, you walk straight into someone else as they leave the bar.

“Shit, sorry-” you start, turning to look in front of you.

Your insides twist and your usual scowl finds it’s way back onto your face.

“She’s cute, your new conquest. Different, but cute.” The blonde says, her voice venomous and full of spite. “Better be gentle when you _screw_ this one over, she definitely looks like the crying type.” She practically spits the words out at you, not dissimilar to how a snake spits its poison at its prey.

You roll your eyes. You don’t have time for this.

“Fuck you, Michelle.”

“Oh, but you already did that, _remember_?”

And with that she walks away, knocking her shoulder against yours. You don’t even realise it, but your fists are clenched at your sides and you’re gritting your teeth so hard it’s almost painful. You push through the pub doors and the noise of the room disorientates you for a moment. You shake your head and let out a grown of frustration and make your way back to your table.

Screw her and her bitterness. It wasn’t your problem that Michelle Aymes was on a slip road to bunny-boiler psychopathy.

Her bitterness might be warranted in her mind, but it had never been your intention for it to feel personal for her. It was _just_ sex. It’s _always_ just sex, and all parties are aware of that beforehand. It’s an unspoken rule even, always has been, always will be. You can’t be held accountable if people like Michelle Aymes and the others decide that they want more from you.

You stop mid-thought, and suddenly find yourself thinking of the way that Michelle just looked at you and imagining if there would ever be a day that Laura looked at you that way. You stomach sinks at the very thought.

Michelle’s not wrong – Laura _is_ different. So different from what you usually go for in fact, that you almost feel like you don’t know what you’re doing with her.

You actually enjoy her company, for one. Which is an altogether new concept for you – you barely enjoy the company of the people who you call your friends, and although a ‘friend’ wouldn’t be the first thing that came to mind when you thought of Laura, the first thought that does come to mind, is that this is someone you care about.

You compare the two pools of people in your head: the people you’ve slept with, and the people you care about, and you realise that those two groups very rarely merge together, and on the rare occasion that they have, it never ends well.

You care about Laura. And she deserves so much better than that.

You find that you’re just standing at the table now, staring aimlessly. Your line of sight suddenly finds the waitress – Danny’s friend you think. You’ve found her looking your way a few times, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t looked twice when you first met her.

You check your watch. There’s less than a minute to go. And as if a light switch was suddenly being flicked off, a snap decision is made in your mind, there and then.

You gesture with your finger at the waitress to come towards you and she looks around bashfully, before looking back at you as if to say, _‘who me?’_

You smirk at her and gesture again, pointing at your watch too this time.

What’s that saying about leopards and spots? You can never remember.

The sound of mild cheering from outside ripples in through the windows as a chant begins. “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven…”

You push Laura out of your head as best you can, and good thing too, because if you hadn’t, you’d be able to picture her in the crowd outside looking for you.

You walk towards the waitress as she zips her way through the smaller crowd of people inside. “Six! Five! Four! Three!”

You both finally make it to each other.

“Perfect timing,” you say, putting your arm around her waist and pulling her towards you.

“Two… ONE!”

The waitress’s hands wrap around your neck as you kiss her, and you feel nothing.

You feel nothing, but her lips, that are both cold and warm at the same time, and her hands on the back of your neck, that are gripping onto you like you’re a dandelion about to blow away.

You feel nothing, and then something; a slight chill from the pub doors opening behind you, and then the burning feeling of someone’s eyes staring into the back of your head. 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey stranger, if you're still out there! So, to say it's been a while would be an understatement, but I haven't forgotten about this story. If anything it's all I think about at the moment, because unfinished business sucks. My excuses consist of my partner and I trying to juggle life with a last minute move interstate, new jobs and apartment hunting..
> 
> Excuses aside, here is the next little bit, which honestly has been written for a very long time, but I've been nitpicking at it so much that I can hardly look at it any longer. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The crowd of students around you roar, and in the distance, the sound of fireworks.

Something in your head flicks that mental light switch again and you’re back in the room. You pull away from the woman in front of you and she gives you a shy smile. You whip your head around to see the door swing close and catch a glimpse of Laura leaving.

“Happy New Year,”

You turn back to the waitress currently still attached to you.

“Happy New Year, _Jen_.” You say, her name coming back to you now – Jen Danvers, Danny’s colleague, classmate and seemingly fast-becoming friend. You tread carefully.

“Listen, I’ve got to-”

She cuts with off with a little laugh and shakes her head.

“You have a good night, hot stuff.” She says with a smile, as she leaves to return back to the bar.

You can’t help but smile and give a sigh of relief to find something painfully familiar in Jen’s attitude.

You grab the blue tote bag from the chair and run out of the bar.

 

\--

 

Outside, you squeeze your way through the hoards of people and find your way into a clearing. You stop and scan the crowd for Laura. You catch a glimpse of her coat as she turns a corner at the end of the street. You bolt after her, her tote bag hitting heavily against your shoulder with every stride – of _course_ she has all five of her lit books with her on New Year’s Eve. 

Turning the corner, the noise from the bar now distant and faded, you give it a shot and yell at her silhouette in the distance.

“Hey, Laura, wait!”

The street lamps barely light the pavements, but you can see her stop in her tracks and take a moment before turning around to look in your direction.

You catch up to her, your feet coming to a slow halt, and you lungs taking a huge breath in.

“Okay.” You start, between breaths, slinging the bag off your shoulder to relieve the weight.

She takes the bag and stands with her arms crossed, her face a little pink in the cheeks. You can tell she feels uncomfortable. She pulls her hair back behind her ear.

“Okay.” You say again, “...Let me explain that. Somehow.”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I do. I really do.” You say, putting your hands up, surrendering to the situation.

“So,” you start, not really know where you're going with this, but hoping that it’s on the right track. “I’m… _that_ person.”

She looks at you for a second, unimpressed.

“That person?” she asks.

“Yeah. That person. You know, that ridiculous cliché of a person that people who love you will tell you to stay away from.”

You’re doing your best to hold back from cringing at your own words, and you can't tell if it's because you think it's corny or because you know it's true. You’ve spent almost the entirety of your life rejecting the idea of what it means to love and be loved, and for the first time you’re beginning to question that, and its all because of her. She raises her eyebrows at you, almost as if to ask if you’re serious. You find the words to carry on before you change your mind.

“I don’t ‘ _do_ ’ relationships. I don’t think before I act sometimes. I really don't like people in general, and I don’t have much patience. When it comes to my fight or flight reflex… well, I’ve spent most of my life fighting that now I will take the flight every time. And, uh, well, that’s what that was earlier. That was the flight, and I’m sorry.” 

Silence takes over the conversation now, and you rock on your heels awkwardly. Her hands are on her hips now, and she gestures as if she’s in the middle of answering a mathematical equation.

“So,” she starts, “You’re an emotional cripple with deep-rooted familial issues, masquerading as an overconfident ass-hat who seems to have no disregard for anyone else’s feelings but her own?” 

_And would you look at Hollis’s southpaw! Karnstein is taken by surprise and stumbles back into her corner!-_

You take it in, silencing your mental commentary and yield, giving a small shrug of a smile.

“Nail on the head, Hollis.”

Her serious façade drops and she lets out a little laugh, shaking her head slightly. You can't tell if she's angry, or upset or is finding this situation genuinely comedic, but the sound of her voice lifts some of that weight of your chest and you take the opportunity.

“But, I’m also, sometimes a good friend, and I really enjoy spending time with you. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Laura, and what happened back then, I usually would just stick with, cut my losses before things get too complicated, but this time I want to-”

She steps forward and puts her hand on your shoulder, silencing you. You notice the look on her face has changed to something of a sad understanding and she gives your arm a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay, Carm,”

“No, it’s not, I really want to try and-” you start.

Validation was not your intention with this conversation, you’ve realised that you do want something more and that scares you, but in a way that, for once, makes you want to fight for it. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but before you can get them out – 

“ – Friends?” she says, giving you the kindest of smiles, the sincerity plain and true on her face.

You bite your tongue and swallow down your words, assessing this situation. 

You’re looking into her eyes and she’s giving you a look that you can’t quite figure. A mixture of pity, kindness and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. Above all however, you see her really trying to be something you have very few of. 

“Friends.”

And as the words leave your mouth, you hear it and you feel a pang in your chest, but you say nothing and embrace it, because how can you possibly ask for more.

 

\--

 

September 2017

 

You’re drumming your fingers against the keyboard, your face in a pained look of frustration as you try to come up with a concluding sentence to your final year dissertation. You’ve been staring at the blinking cursor for the better part of an hour, occasionally typing out a string of words, only to punch down the backspace key, and just like that you’re back at the beginning; story of your life. 

The entirety of your academic career at Silas relies on this document, but at this point, you couldn’t care less if you handed in a coffee stained blank page.

Two and a half weeks have passed since Laura’s announcement and the both of you haven’t spoken since the morning after. A few awkward, wordless encounters in the hallway of your building meant that you were now a little more on edge, and had made particular effort to time your exiting and entering of the building in a way that would make your chances of bumping into her less likely.

A small tennis ball hits the wall next to your desk and bounces back behind you.

Another whoosh of wind past your ear and the ball hits the same spot on the wall. The precision of the hit would impress you if you were the type to care. But you aren’t, so it doesn’t. You groan and swivel in your chair.

Kirsch is lying on your bed, his head hanging off the edge and his hands out in front of him, ready to throw the ball again.

“And there’s really nowhere else you have to be today?” you say through gritted teeth.

Kirsch rolls the ball around in his hand.

“Plenty of places! But I’d rather be here with you.” He says, in a tone of mocking sentiment.

“I’m touched.” You say, swivelling back around and attempting another string of words, but midway through the sentence you realise that the effort is futile. You let out a groan of frustration and slam the lid of your laptop shut.

“What’s going on Car,” you hear from behind you.

“This is due tonight, meathead, that’s what. Whoa-” your chair swivels around unexpectedly as Kirsch turns you to face him.

He’s sitting on the end of your bed now, his arms crossed, and his face is weird and _authoritative_.

“What’s going on with _you and Laura_?” He repeats again, the question apparently lost on you the first time he asked.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Your arms are folded now too.

Kirsch moves up your bed and sits cross-legged before patting the spot next to him.

“Talk it out with me, you must. Help, it will.” He says with his face scrunched up in an impression of the tiny green Jedi master.

You let out a small smile and roll your eyes, begrudgingly, but also, willingly, and fall back onto the bed next to him.

You stare up at your ceiling and your eyes try to follow the little spots of light dancing about – you’ve been staring at your computer screen for far too long.

Kirsch lies next to you, staring at the ceiling also.

“…I don’t know, man. I think I’ve lost her.” You say, letting out a small sigh.

“Well, I gotta say, I just don’t think that’s possible.” He says easily, turning on his side to face you, “You guys have… _the look_.” He says, raising his arm above the both of you, seemingly signalling ‘the look’.

You turn to face him and frown. “I don’t know what that means, Kirsch.”

“It’s like,” he starts, his eyes wandering to the ceiling, as if his explanation is written up there on the walls. “The way you look at her is so different from the way you look at anyone else, and it’s kind of like, maybe the universe gives you one ‘look’ that’s reserved for that one person who’s ‘it’, y’know? And that’s the look that you have when you’re looking at her…” 

You squint at Kirsch, trying to follow him in his explanation, but before you can interrupt for any kind of clarification, he continues.

“ _AND,_ when she’s looking at you, looking at her, she knows that it’s ‘the look’ too, and it’s like she knows that you were always meant to be looking at each other, because the way she looks back at you, is kind of like she doesn’t want anyone else to ever be looking at her like that, ever.”

“…Dude, I honestly don’t understand anything you just said.”

Kirsch rolls his eyes and leans up on his arm. “Basically, what I mean is, the only other people I’ve ever seen look at each other the way you two look at each other are my grandparents, and Han and Leia.”

You groan and roll onto your back in defeat.

“How does that help me, Kirsch? She's leaving! I’ve wasted all this time.” You say, covering your face with your hands. 

“I dunno dude… I really don’t think it’s been wasted. But, I mean, if you really feel that way, then maybe just work on not wasting the rest of it. Two days is plenty of time. Quality not quantity, bro.” Kirsch says simply, giving a small shrug and then focusing his attention back to the small green ball as he aims it at the corner of the ceiling.

He hits it, nail on the head.

 

\--

 

September 2015

 

5:00 AM. 

Your alarm blares out into the darkness of your room, your hand slams down on it immediately like clockwork. You get out of bed soundlessly, and walk to the chest of drawers, pulling out a sports bra, running shorts and a muscle tee. You get dressed and head to the bathroom, your daily ritual continuing.

You pull your shoes on as a quiet knock comes from the front door, your check your watch and smirk. 5:30 AM. She was always on time, never a minute earlier, never a minute later.

You open your door to find Laura standing there in multi-coloured leggings, a tight tank top and her hair up in a high ponytail.

“Are you ever late to anything, ever?” you ask, still somewhat sleepily.

“Hey, you have yourself to blame for this.” She says, looking as though she’s been up for hours – fresh faced and bright eyed.

She wasn’t wrong. Ever since the New Year, you and Laura had stuck to your word and you had become friends – good friends, _solid_ friends, and since the beginning of summer, running friends too. Apart from the running, your time together had always been around others, group library sessions held by Perry, followed by the weekly Friday nights at the Red Dragon. At the start of the summer however, Laura had asked if she could join you on your morning runs through the park, after bumping into you so often on your way back from them. Begrudgingly, you had agreed, one the conditions that she wasn’t late, didn’t talk, and kept up with you. You hated running and talking, and in all honesty, you had been thankful for the minimal one on one time with Laura – it had meant for a drama free, complication free friendship with her and, so far, so good.

Exiting the building, you both set off immediately and wordlessly, the route now so familiar to you, and now, Laura, that you could both do it with your eyes closed.

When Laura had started running with you, you definitely had the advantage, averaging about a minute a kilometre faster then her, but now, she was keeping up and keeping pace.

50 minutes later and you could see the finish line in sight – a small opening in the grass surrounded by trees. You throw a little side-glance at Laura and smirk, immediately picking up the pace. Her eyes widen and she grins back, “Oh no you don’t,” she breathes out, picking up her feet and racing you to the end. 

You grimace as you feel the burn in your legs, Laura in your peripheral, but only just. You arms slash at the air by your sides and you push ahead, losing sight of Laura. Your foot hits the worn patch of grass that has become the designated finish line and you immediately, without thinking, come to a halt, pivoting on your heel and raising your arms in victory.

“Suck on tha- OOF!” the wind gets knocked out of your as Laura collides with you at full speed. You both catapult onto the grass with a tumble and a loud thud. 

You both burst out into a mixture of laughter and painful groans, Laura a tangled mess of limbs on top of you. Your arms are around her, and you’re completely winded, as if you’ve just caught a 130lb cannonball that was shot at you, close range.

“Jesus, Hollis,” you say in between laughs and breaths, letting go of her and moving strands of you hair, leaves and twigs, away from your face. “I can’t breathe.”

“Ow, ow, ow, I’m sorry, ow,” She responds, moving her arms out from underneath her and swivelling her legs out either side of your and getting up onto her knees, her arms on her sides trying to catch her breath back.

“You couldn’t just let me have that one?” you say with a small painful laugh as you regain the ability to breathe properly again. You lean up onto your elbows and the pain in your stomach disappears and is replaced with another kind of feeling as your eyes adjust and you look up at Laura, straddling you, and pulling her hair out of her face, and pulling it all back up into the ponytail that was lost in the collision.

Well, shit. This feels familiar.

She pulls her ponytail tight and puts her hands on her hips and looks down at you with a smirk.

“Never.”

You sit up slightly and Laura falls back a little into your lap, you place your hand on the small of her back to keep her up.

“What?” she breathes out, almost in a whisper.

You bring your hand up to her face and you pull a twig from the side of her hair.

“Uh, you missed a bit,” you say quietly, biting your lip and dropping the twig to the ground.

Laura’s cheeks are already red from the run, but you swear you can see them darken a shade as the space between you closes.

“Are you okay?” you ask, you hand still on her back, you eyes wandering from her eyes to her lips and back again.

She notices and bites her lip. “Yeah, I’m fine, are you?”

You nod, “Nothing broken yet.” You say with a small smile.

A moment passes and Laura clears her throat. “My gosh, I should get off you, and we should, uh, go.” She says, falling over her words and awkwardly getting up off you.

You get to your feet and brush yourself off, the aches and pains from the run coming back to you now.

“Coffee?” you offer up, looking back to the path.

Laura gives you a smile.

“Race you there?”


End file.
